though I've never seen it—of course the disposition of his fortune will be in accordance with that. I do know that he intended to make a will before his marriage, leaving everything to you, but whether he has done so or not, I'm not sure."
"His lawyers will know, won't they?"
"Yes; unless he made merely a private memorandum, which, if signed, will be valid. But, Dorothy, you talk as if he were dead! And, oh, child, if he is, if he should be, you don't mean,—you can't mean, that you want to know who inherits White Birches—to know where to turn your affections next!"
Dorothy had the grace to look ashamed of herself, and, moved by Chapin's evident misery, she said softly, "If Justin never returns, there is only one place for my affections."
The look she gave Chapin left no doubt of her meaning, and, taking both her hands in his, he said, "Oh, darling, you've admitted it at last! You make me so happy, dear, and, whether Arnold returns or not, he shall never claim you after that admission!"
"Oh, yes, he will! I'm bound to him, and of course he will return, and of course I shall marry him. But now tell me what he said to you. You promised you would."
"He wasn't at all nice, dear. He accused me of being a traitor to him, and of acting dishonorably in loving the girl he was engaged to."
"Well, it isn't very honorable, is it?"
"All's fair in love and war. And, any way, if I could win you only through dishonor, I would pause at no crime!"
"Oh, Ernest, what a dreadful speech! Don't say such things. You make me shiver!"
"But it's true, Dorothy: I would hesitate at nothing, if you were the reward."
Just then Gale and Leila returned from a walk through the grounds, and though Dorothy greeted them casually, as if her conversation with Chapin were most unimportant, the man could not so easily shake off a feeling of self-consciousness. To hide it, he became glum and taciturn, responding in monosyllables, when he spoke at all.
"We didn't find any clues around the place," said Leila. "Now we're going to look through the house. Mr. Gale and I have discovered that we both have the 'detective instinct,' and we're working together on this case." It was clear to the most incurious observer that Gale and Leila were more interested in their discoveries about each other than in their "case," but Dorothy had affairs of her own on her mind, and Chapin was uninterested, so the two amateur detectives passed on into the house to continue their search.
In a few moments Leila came running back. "Dorothy," she cried, "did you take a green sofa-pillow from the couch in the living-room? The one embroidered in gold thread?"
"No, Leila, I haven't seen it. Why should I take a sofa-cushion from its place?"
"Well, it's gone; and nobody knows anything about it, and we think it is a clue!"
"Oh, Leila, how ridiculous! How could a missing sofa-pillow be a clue? Probably one of the maids took it to mend it, or something."
"No," and Leila spoke positively; "it didn't need mending. It was a new one, and it was so pretty that I was going to copy the embroidery. That's the way I happened to miss it. It's gone, and nobody knows anything about it!"
"It does seem queer," said Gale, who had followed Leila out.
"Fiddlesticks!" said Dorothy. "If you two people weren't so anxious to make anything serve as a clue, you'd know that that sofa-pillow would turn up somewhere. Do you suppose Justin kidnapped it and took it away, or do you suppose a burglar came in through a keyhole, purposely to get it?"
Ernest Chaplin looked thoughtful. "Did it have a thick gold cord all round it, and tassels at one corner?" he asked.
"Yes," answered Leila eagerly. "Did you take it away, Mr. Chapin?"
"No," and Ernest Chapin spoke slowly; "I remember having seen it, that is all."
Leila and Gale went away to make further search for the sofa-pillow, and Chapin fell into a brown study, from which even Dorothy's chatter failed to rouse him.
Chapter XIII.
The Detective
"I know," said Leila, thoughtfully, her pretty blonde head on one side, "that it seems silly to Dorothy, but I do believe that sofa-pillow has something to do with the mystery."
"I'm sure it has," said Gale, who was approaching that point where if Leila had said the phase of the moon was responsible for Arnold's disappearance, he would have agreed with her. "But for the life of me, I can't see how."
"Nor I," and Leila's straight brows contracted as she puzzled over the matter. "But you know, Mr. Gale, it is queer that it should get away so suddenly, and, too, detectives always find out things from some such strange incident as that. When Mr. Wheeler comes, I've no doubt he'll consider it a matter of importance, but I want to deduce for myself what it means."
But Leila couldn't get any inkling of the sofa-cushion's present whereabouts, nor could she form any theory of how it could possibly be connected with Justin's absence.
"It's utterly absurd, Leila," said Fred Crane, "to imagine a sofa-pillow as a clue! What part could it play in the mystery? You don't suppose Justin took it with him?"
"No; of course he wouldn't do that. And yet, where is it? It was here on Monday, for I was matching its colors to make one like it I've asked the housekeeper and the servants."
"What did they say?" asked Crane, not much interested.
"Only Mrs. Garson and the parlor-maid remembered it at all. And they said they knew nothing about it."
"Perhaps the parlor-maid stole it," volunteered Gale. "You say it was a valuable one."
"Not valuable," corrected Leila, "but especially pretty. But Polly wouldn't steal it. She seems a nice girl. Maybe she took it to copy it, and was afraid to own up."
"That's probably it," said Crane. "But it can't possibly be connected with Justin Arnold in any way."
The three were still discussing the sofa-cushion when Mr. Wheeler arrived. The entire household assembled in the living-room to meet him.
While by no means a fine-looking or distinguished man, James Wheeler gave an impression of capability. Rather short and of stocky build, his alert air and quick movements invested him with a degree of importance, and his shrewd eyes betokened an incisive intelligence and a good sense of values. He was plain and straightforward in his methods. No sly and subtle manoeuvring for him. Plain facts, and logical deductions therefrom, constituted his stock-in-trade. His manner was a trifle pompous, as fitted his calling, but he was courteous and deferential, and liked quick action when once he set about his business.
He seated himself in a large chair at one end of the long room, and seemed to take a hasty mental stock of the people grouped about before he spoke at all. He glanced appraisingly at Miss Wadsworth, but as that lady was exceedingly nervous and almost hysterical, the detective looked further for a nominal head of the house.
Fred
